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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516211">The Coffee Cryptid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStringsOnMe/pseuds/NoStringsOnMe'>NoStringsOnMe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fast food fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Bucky Barnes and his dumb fucking coffee order, Fluff and Humor, Grumpy Bucky Barnes, M/M, POV Miles Morales, POV Outsider, stevebucky if you squint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStringsOnMe/pseuds/NoStringsOnMe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is an uncaffeinated grump in the morning with a killer sweet tooth. Baristas everywhere hate him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fast food fics [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Coffee Cryptid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/gifts">Kalee60</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The prompt for this was given to me by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60">Kalee60</a> as part of my follower's celebration over on tumblr. The rebloggable tumblr post can be found <a href="https://martelldoran.tumblr.com/post/631449009005953024/fandom-mcu-pairing-bucky-x-his-fucking-dumb">here</a> if you fancy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Before Miles Morales took his first morning shift at the Dancing Monkey cafe, Gwen Stacey had pulled him aside with a wicked glint in her eye and told him to watch out for "The Coffee Cryptid". Her words, not his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They don't come in every day, but if they do, you'll know them when you see them," she said. Laughter rolled loosely around her face as she tried, but failed, to school her features into something neutral and impassive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he pressed her for more information, she just shook her head, ashy blonde hair falling into her eyes, and refused to say anything more. He'd contemplated begging, because the mystery was killing him, but decided against it. They didn't know each other that well and he was really trying to seem cool enough that maybe she'd consider hanging out with him outside of work sometime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But anyway, back to the point at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had just gone 7am, the cafe was opening for its first patrons of the day, Steve, Miles's manager, was through the back baking off pastries, and Miles was manning the till point feeling pretty confident that he could handle just about anything or anyone that came through the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 7:05, a fox-faced redhead in a sharp black suit and even sharper heels glided through the door and ordered a medium Americano with an extra shot and six brown sugars before poking her head around the kitchen door to say hello to Steve.  As orders went, it wasn't that unusual. MIles made it with a bright smile and watched as she settled in a corner booth, bright eyes fixed on the door. So far, so good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 7:12, a bedraggled, blonde man with a bruise on his jaw slumped in. He gave the fox-faced woman a furtive wave and ordered three large filter coffees which he promptly poured straight into a purple thermos, which, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>strange but Miles wasn't here to judge. It definitely wasn't 'Coffee Cryptid' levels of strange anyway. Thermos shuffled over to Fox-face, ducked to give her a kiss on the cheek, and sat down next to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles served six more people, all of whom had very simple and perfectly normal orders. The most complex thing he had to do was add some pumpkin spice syrup </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>some vanilla syrup to a cappuccino and really, you could train a monkey to do that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 7:42, however, a broad-shouldered man with a messy ponytail and a disgruntled look on his face ducked through the door and marched up to the counter. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and there was a blue shadow of stubble across his chin. He fixed Miles with a dead-eyed stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It chilled him, but Miles Morales was nothing if not determined, so he hitched his best customer-facing smile onto his face and dived right on in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi there! Welcome to The Dancing Monkey. What can I get for you today?" He smiled a little brighter and looked at the man expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long, drawn-out pause, so drawn out that Miles felt his smile falter. Shifting from foot to foot, he gave the man an encouraging look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd like a large iced caramel latte-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay great, I can get that-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"With six extra shots and 30 pumps of syrup." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The order hung in the air between them. Miles was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open but he couldn't shut it. His brain had completely short-circuited. The red ring of doom. The blue screen of death. Was there any coming back from this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm-I'm sorry, sir, but you want. . ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A large, iced vanilla latte," the man repeated, deadpan and, apparently, deadly serious, "with six extra shots of coffee and 30 pumps of syrup."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles dithered. His customer service smile had slid right off his face and he was grimacing, trying vainly to tally up the cost of this in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sir, the cost-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is not important," the dead-eyed being cut in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, thought Miles, he seemed very sure of himself. Who was this man? If that's what he even was. Miles was beginning to have his doubts. He was some sugar-fuelled, caffeine-addicted terror here to make Miles' life hell. Grimacing, he stared at the till. He had no idea how to put it through. Where was he supposed to even begin? Across the cafe, he could feel Fox-face and Thermos staring at him. He was almost certain that the pretty redhead was laughing at him as she leaned across her seat to whisper something in Thermos’ ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a problem?” asked the grey-eyed demon before him, cocking an eyebrow and popping his hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short queue had started to form behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not. Let me ring this up for you.” And with a barely suppressed wince, that’s just what he did. Except, the universe being the universe, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. The total price kept ticking up and up and up. Seemingly without end. But then it hit $25 and a pop up flashed up on the screen. With a sinking feeling, Miles glanced at the man, then back to the till, then back to the man again. He swallowed, mouth dry. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t process this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dark, deeply uncaffeinated look passed across the eldritch terror’s face. Did he have tentacles? Were tentacles about to descend from underneath his jacket to give him a shake or would he just unhinge his jaw to devour him whole right where he stood? The jury was still out. It could go either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles offered him an apologetic smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be new,” the man sighed, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. A flash of silver caught under the lights. “Go and get Steve, would you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was no need. Steve was already pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I heard your dulcet tones. Are you terrorising my staff again?” he asked, amused. Steve laid one huge hand on Miles’ shoulder and smiled down at him. “You go sort his abomination. I’ll put it through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he got it now. This was Bucky. Bucky as in Steve’s husband. Right, well, in that case. Ducking his head, Miles set to work in a daze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he was pumping the obscene amount of vanilla syrup into a takeaway cup, he heard Steve mutter, “You need to learn to be nice to people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice,” Bucky whined. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>After</span>
  </em>
  <span> coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, he lost count of how many pumps he was supposed to put in and there may have actually been seven, and not six, shots in the end but Miles watched as a serene look passed across Bucky’s face and he smiled. No, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>beamed</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Miles’ direction and blew a kiss at Steve before waltzing right out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What had just happened? Was this a fever dream? Was he being hazed? Miles twisted his apron in his hands, he was sticky with syrup and he’d flashed hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I love that man - disgusting coffee habits aside,” sighed Steve, gazing wistfully out the door. Shaking himself from whatever rose-tinted musing he was having, he clapped Miles on the shoulder, the sheer good-natured force of it rattling his teeth. “You okay with everything here, bud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles nodded and he went back to serving customers, because what else was he to do? He was still trying to make sense of the bizarre turn his morning had taken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 8:04, Fox-face and Thermos stood to leave, but before they did, the redhead slid $20 into the tip jar with a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did good, kid. He rattles everyone the first time round. Give it time,” she called, waggling her fingers, and disappearing into the morning crowds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen Stacey, Miles decided, owed him one. She owed him one big time and he wasn’t about to let her forget it anytime soon.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!<br/>You can usually find me in the comments.</p><p>But I'm also over on tumblr <a href="https://martelldoran.tumblr.com/">@martelldoran</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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